


Anarchy in the UK

by norman_motherfucking_rockwell



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 1970s, 70s music, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Chaos, Drinking, England (Country), Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, F/M, Fluff, Found Family Feels, Hockey, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Inspired by Music, M/M, Pining, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, head boy enjolras, like riot club mixed with st trinians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norman_motherfucking_rockwell/pseuds/norman_motherfucking_rockwell
Summary: Éponine is the only girl in an all boys school full maniac anarchists. punk rock and riots ensue.Welcome to Britain 1979, we hope you enjoy your stay"https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0xcaHL59F9inD08OZKYiHm?si=yIqVkP1GSiSS5br2_RfDLAI"
Relationships: Combeferre/Éponine Thénardier, Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Joly/Bossuet Laigle, Montparnasse/Jean Prouvaire, enjolras/anarchy, Éponine Thénardier & Les Amis de l'ABC
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Anarchy in the UK

Driving down the road leading to st. Larmarques school for boys was not what one might expect. There was a car on the side of the road for starter, which had been set alight. There was no one around, only a smoking Ford Zodiac with the words’ FUCK THATCHER’ spray-painted onto its side in red. Smoke was climbing out of the smashed windows and into the cold English air, creating a bonfire effect, except it was apparent the bonfire was going to explode at some point relatively soon, in a flash of anti-tory rage.

This should have been Éponine’s first clue. However, after living through her childhood in a smokey opium den disguised as a home, this wasn’t exactly the most noteworthy thing she’d seen all year. But what should have been noteworthy was that this was meant to be a top boarding school, its motto was ‘Defensores LICENTIA.’ Éponine had no what it meant but would soon come to learn, mostly after they’d driven past the sign which had the motto on it, but ‘imperialism is death’ painted on the other side. Even after this, Éponine really didn’t give two fucks.

The truth is, during the summer heat of August, a group of police pigs trampled down the door and tore the whole place apart. They found what they were looking for as Mr. and Mrs. Thénardier where sat in two different shit hole prisons serving time for a myriad of offenses. This ranged from drug laundering to embezzlement. Now that the scumbags where trialed and sentenced, ‘what was to be done with the children?’ was the question that donned everyone’s mind, and what a question it was. The youngest, Gavroche, was to be put in the foster care system along with the middle child, Azelma. By a stroke of luck, they somehow weren’t separated. They were able to stick together, though neither stuck around for long, believe it or not, being passed around to the various middle-class homes of southern England was about as fun as being an evacuee. 

However, as the two of them were 9 and 12 and no longer in London, they weren’t very inconspicuous when it came to running away from home and eventually got caught out. Only then to return to disappointed stares from the ‘father’ and faux tears from the ‘mother’ and a very disgruntled policeman was a very repetitive scene for the two of them, but it worked and kept them together. However, the question left was what to do with the Eldest, Éponine. 

The scrappy jondrette girl usually caught with a cigarette between her lips, the one just on the cusp of seventeen, the one generally playing mother for the other two Thénardiers who had to grow up way too quickly. The original plan was to just place her in some dumpy home for children until she aged out, it seemed the most viable to the social workers. Of course, separating the siblings wasn’t ideal for anyone, some more than others (the social worker who had to deliver the news had most likely been traumatized by the sheer rage thrown her way. Her future in working with children is still undecided). On the 31st of August, the phone began to ring, 

“What?” was the dignified answer Éponine gave to the caller. 

“So its a bit of an unusual placement, but… I think you should look at it as an opportunity to broaden your horizons,” replied the new social worker, Suzan was her name, or tactless bitch as she was not so lovingly referred to as by the Éponine. Usually, she just called, said some crap Éponine didn’t wanna hear, and then promptly hung up. After a long silence, Éponine finally dignified Suzan with a response. 

“...What” this time it wasn’t asked like a question, but just incentive for Suzan to keep talking.

“Well, I’ve just gotten off the phone with a particular gentleman who goes by the name of a Mr. Valjean or Professor if you want to get technical. Anyway, he said he’d heard about your little conundrum from the evening news.” ‘great it’s fuckin public knowledge now’ was what Éponine began thinking while Suzan droned on. Taking a deep breath, she started listening to the woman again. 

“And so he’s offered you a position.”  
“Wait, what did you say.”  
“I said…” she huffed out her fat mouth.  
“Mr. Valjean has offered to take you on at his school for boys, St. Lamarque’s. I believe it called that, so pack up your bags I’m picking you up at 8 for a uniform fitting, and then we’re off.” All that could be heard in the silence followed was the sound of Elvis crooning in the background, and the sound of Suzan puffing on her cigarette. Finally, after the infinity that fit into the ten seconds of silence, a loud shriek could be heard from Éponine’s side of the telephone line.

“YOU. HAVE. GOT. TO. BE. FUCKING. JOKING. You’re gonna send me to some testosterone pit filled was fucking tory boys, this is a piss-take, how dare you I’ll be passed around like a piece of meat. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be seen as a walking, ‘hopefully’ not talking vagina Suzan, do you?! I fucking doubt it, you fat cow, I-” after that, Suzan (the tactless bitch) hung up. 

Now that’s how Éponine ended up in the passenger seat of a Volkswagon Beatle that had seen better days, staring at a burning car set to explode. However, for someone who wasn’t easily shocked, this surely was an exciting development from an esteemed boys school. She was still angry at that of course, Éponine wasn’t particularly happy about the fact she was mostly going to be seen as a human right hand. After living in a shit hole always crowded by the grown men with leering looks on ugly faces, going to a school full of teenage boys with cocky smirks on privileged faces wasn’t precisely the reprieve she was looking for. Also, this mysterious benefactor wasn’t exactly looking like the most promising situation. 

Finally, the moment had arrived when the car pulled up to the magnificent old house, well, mansion. Gravel lined the path leading to up the great courtyard; however, there were a dozen or so first-year boys in various degrees of scruffiness and were all staring at Éponine like she was some mythical animal. Instead of seeing the usual predatory looks that she received from the men her parents usually had at the house, she detected a hint of uncomfortable fear as if her existence there was similar to a yeti.

Instead of acknowledging them, she powered forward into the entryway. However, she had missed that when she had stepped inside was the giant pale of water which had been dropped from an open upstairs window, both drenching the first years and Suzan, hurrying behind and now dripping all over the linoleum floor. Inside of the entry, a large fountain was sat in the middle of the room, upon closer inspection, the fountain seemed to have some less inconspicuous items floating towards the bottom of it. 

The ceilings where high but the person behind the reception desk seemed to be higher, he was sat swinging backward on his chair, eyes closed and whisper yelling the beginning of the immigrant song. Slowly he seemed to become conscious that he wasn’t the only person in the room as Suzan followed behind Éponine by bursting through the entryway huffing and puffing and dripping wet. 

“Can I help you?” said the guy still swinging on his chair, his voice sounded light and floaty, yet he was high out of his mind if the redness in his eyes were to indicate anything. 

“May I speak to the man in charge please young sir?” it seemed to take all of Suzan’s might to not glare at the boy while asking, but the scowl etched across her thin lips said everything, not that the boy noticed or cared.  
“Oh sure, of course, ENJOL-”  
“No, no I’m looking for a Professor Jean Valjean is he here?” Suzan interrupted while the obvious disdain was written all across her face.

“Never mind, someone, please get Valjean for the nice lady, please, oh please do it for me. I can’t possibly bear to see her frown once again”. He was taking the piss, yet the mysterious Valjean appeared before them a second later. 

“Yes, that’s quite enough Jehan, I’m here now.”

“Never mind he’s already here, but oh thank you, thank you for-” the supposed Jehan was cut off by Suzan’s Lazer scowl cutting off any upcoming poetic monologue, he left swiftly with only a glimpse of his combat boosts, before he slipped out the door like a ghost in the night.

“Anyway, you must be Éponine; I’m afraid this must look like an extraordinary situation, but to be quite frank, I had come into contact with your family before.” Éponines stomach sank, “and so while following the story through the newspaper, and I couldn’t help but feel as if there’s something I could do.”

“Sir, please, I don’t want pity; frankly, it’s overrated, and it’s not what I’m about.”  
After that, an awkward silence filled the hall while its occupants looked at anywhere that wasn’t at each other. 

“Well, then I best be going, have fun ms Thénardier hopefully, we never see each other again, any way you know the telephone number for the office if anything is wrong, please try not to get pregnant and ill be on my way! Lovely to meet you, Professor, goodbye!” She said all this while backing up out of the door, still sopping wet and in a hurry, next thing she was gone and all that could be heard of Suzan was her revving up the engine of the Volkswagen beetle and driving at breakneck speed down the mile-long driveway. 

Valjean gestured to the hallway where Éponine followed behind “Well, I’ll have Jehan show you to your room ms Thénardier, and I hope you settle in nicely if you have any questions please come to my office, but I can assure you that non of this is out of pity. I see you as someone who needs some help, and I would like to be the one to give it to you as someone once did for me. Plus! Hey, it’s almost the eighties, why to define ourselves by gender” he said while throwing his arms up into the air. “I think you’ll find that you fit in at our establishment more than you’d expect.” 

There was something about this man which just screamed earnest, he sounded wise in what he was saying, Éponine had no idea why this man seemed to have some sort of faith in her but he  
did, and well she was here now, may as well make the most of it it seems. 

\---------------------------------------------------------

While standing in the empty hallway, Éponine couldn't help but find it suspiciously quiet; it was eerie like there were people around, but not a sound could be heard almost like the residents were watching from the top of the stairs like ghosts. At least it was quiet until the sound of heavy boots descending down the stairs and echoed through the room, looking up, Éponine saw the alleged Jehan who had a big goofy smile on his face. Looking up awkwardly Éponine noticed he was trying to gesture up the stairs, she glared at his sunny disposition but still complied, 'what is this kid on' she thought. As she watched him, he started skipping back up the stairs while humming under his breath, which sounded like Gloria Gaynor.

"It's all quite exciting, isn't it, don't you think, the only girl in a school full of boys, wow, I just hope you've got a strong stomach, we really are a bit of an exciting bunch. What's your name I bet it's as lovely as a summer morning, though you strike me more like autumn after-"

"It's Éponine, "she grunted out, only to stop Jehan going off on some flowery tangent, he seemed the type to do that a lot. He kept talking, rattling off soliloquies about the excitement of youth, but to Éponine, it all sounded like fancy bullshit, and she stopped listening after the third 'wow.'

"Oi Prouvaire, leave the poor lady alone will ya, I'll take it from here, not everyone appreciates your beautified retelling of how you lit the school pantry on fire for your art project."

"What the fuck is it with this place and people lighting shit on fire." The guy in front of her laughed and shook his head, he had wild dark hair that looked like you could hide national secrets in it, with olive skin, a crooked nose and a cigarette behind his ear, overall the effect should have felt mismatched but seemed quite charming.

"Ah, I'm guessing you've seen our little statement piece out on the lawn then,"  
"It looks like it's going to explode any second, and what's with the fucking signs?"  
"Ah dear Ponine, can I call you that ?" she rolled her eyes yet still nodded as they began strolling down the hall.

"Well, Ponine you see we're not quite like other schools, I suppose we have a wider political program than most. Most of our parents send us here because we got kicked out of everywhere else. For example, our most delightful Jehan, well he got with the headmaster's son, a bottle of absinthe and his fist halfway-"

"ALL RIGHT! Okay, I get it, what did you do then?" Suddenly, the guy stopped in the middle of the hallway and looked at Eponine with a manic look in his eyes, while his smirk grew wider.

"What!" Éponine exasperated while raising her arms in annoyance.  
"Oh, my dear new friend."  
"Were not friends."  
"Oh, my dear new friend, Ponine, what in the world didn't I do, I'm considering writing a book on it one day, it's going to be called 'Gay Britain: Everyone is at least Bisexual in Boarding School.' It will be amazing if only I can achieve my magnum opus! The golden god himself." 

The manic look in his eye was only to be gone a second later when he took out his hand to shake and finally introduced himself.

"Oh, where are my manors, oops, anyway I'm Grantaire most people call me R, don't ask, I'm just as pretentious as I seem."

Éponine decided she liked this guy, missing teeth and all, there was something very genuine about him (he also let her bum a cigarette, but that's neither here nor there). Finally, they arrived at a long hallway with yellow walls full of political graffiti, the most prominent being 'eat the rich' ('ironic' Éponine thought) written in cursive along the balustrade. Alas, the bell rang, and all of a sudden hoards of teenage boys of varying ages filled the halls, the whole place was filled with yelling and laughter, everyone trying to speak over each other to be heard, filled the building. Whatever was upstairs sounded like it had been filled with a herd of elephants. Hockey sticks banged against the walls, explaining the reasons for the dents in the plaster. Eventually, Éponine had to hang on to Grantaire's arm to not be dragged along with the tidal wave of testosterone.

"What the fuck is this place" Éponine tried to yell in Grantaires ear, he just laughed and said,  
"Welcome to the circus, my love!" He had all the confidence of a ringmaster, reveling in the chaos that was lunchtime.  
"Welcome to the daily bullrush Ponine!" After the 2 minutes of chaos were up, R and Éponine had made their way into the dining hall, in which there were rows and rows of wooden benches filled with sweaty and spotty teenagers.  
"Everyone sort of races to get their hands on the cottage pie," he admitted as they walked further into the hall, while Éponine was combating confused stares, with her signature death glare, R carried on talking as usual.

"It's really a staple of the first day back, it all goes down from here trust me. Gerta the dinner lady, bless her soul, she really tries, and I suppose her food makes you think it's good after eating it for so long, it's like Stockholm syndrome. The thing is after a day you forget the warm nostalgia and just remember it's mushy peas and really burnt pastry, lovely nonetheless. Still, the majority of these lot, myself included, are a bit more used to, let's say, 'the finer things.' Our parents think they're punishing us by sending us here, but the only punishment really is Gerta's cooking."

Just as Grantaire finished talking, a big gruff bloke started waving him over like an excited schoolgirl. R then obviously merrily moved towards, but not before taking Éponine's hand to guide her to the new table where the guy was waving from.

"Oh, wow, fresh meat, wicked!" The big gruff guy was smiling and looked to be enjoying the slop on his plate more than he had any right. Still, he introduced himself as Bahorel with a firm bone-crunching handshake and a merry grin, he kind of reminded Éponine of some type of indigenous Father Christmas. She watched as he and Grantaire talked about their summer. Bahorel was unapologetically excited when retelling his stories. Grantaire seemed to try and tell his stories as if he were pitching some kind of low budget film where all the characters are gay and worship Bowie.

"So anyway he comes on stage, and everyone is about to cry, but me, little old me," he says as he clutches his hands to his chest. "I manage to chuck my friend Friend Floréals bra on stage with perfect accuracy, and what does the beautiful man do? Go on, guess."

"I don't know, man, it's your fuckin story" Grantaire is still waiting for a guess, so eventually, Éponine cracks and says, "he caught it?"

"He bloody caught it the beautiful man, and he put it on he just fucking put it on over the shirt, wow," he seemed dazed, recounting the memory and just stared up at the ceiling waiting for someone to respond while the other two just stared at him.

"Bullshit," Bahorel stated, "you're always chatting bull mate, what would Bowie do with Floréals tiny ass bra, not that impressive really."  
"Oi, a woman's bra size doesn't determine her value, so shut the fuck up posh twat" the two of them looked at Éponine with surprise and respect as she glared at them both of them.

"Hey, I wasn't tryna be disrespectful; I'm just saying that Rs always exaggerating shit ya know, he knows what I mean" the earnestness in his tone was surprising, but not unwelcomed from the gentle giant.

"Yeah, whatever," Éponine said as she carried on eating the sloppy crap she was given. The conversation picked up again quickly as more people joined the table, and it got louder, the newcomers introduced themselves as Joly and Bousset, one a tiny blonde boy with sunshine in his cheeks, the other bald with a massive hickey on the side of his neck. All of a sudden, the conversation quieted as Bahorel asked Éponine about her summer and how she was put in the 'anarchist sinkhole.' She looked around at all the new expectant faces and shrugged, 

"I guess I'm an anarchist."

\-------------------------------------------------------

"Does anybody else think about the way that we as humans eat each other? I don't know; I'd rather eat a sack of shit than eat any of you sad fuckos."  
"Is that how you spent your summer then, Mont? Just walking around asking everyone about cannibalism, or is it just you being a beautiful morbid knob?"  
"Fuck off!"

This was the valient conversation Éponine overheard while being lead up the stairs by Grantaire and the rest of the traveling party. When reaching the top of the stairs, a tall skinny guy with dark hair, slicked back like Danny Zuko, was dangling a year 7 by his ankle. All while in conversation with Jehan about cannibalism, apparently? 

"Exercise, ya know." was how R explained it in Éponine's ear. The slick guy, (Mont? To be fair he did seem like a Mont in Éponine's opinion.) seemed to be getting riskier when dangling the first year. He began shaking him up and down, which revealed the insides of his pockets, and a trickle of change fell to the first floor until a pound coin fell on a golden mop of hair. The death stare that managed to penetrate two flights of stairs was like a gladiator readying to fight a panther, cold precision, and absolute focus.

"Shit, we're gonna get fried." Was Mr slicks dignified response, who seemed to have already taken cover. At the same time, Jehan joined the rabble at the top of the stairs with stars in his eyes, the year 7 had seemingly disappeared. Blondie was marching up the stairs with a scary amount of determination.

"Get ready for a show lads and lady." Grantaire was now rubbing his hands together and resting against the banister and smoldering; however, he looked like a guy in the street trying to flog random crap. The whole effect probably wasn't something he was going for. The confidence was there, but it seemed a little more like bravado. 

"Oh my god, it's you, its Apollo, back from his holidays, I didn't even know gods could take holidays, what did you do? Write a new socialist manifesto? Should we expect to be living in caves under Cornwall from now on? Or maybe you met someone, and they cracked through the marble at last." His voice was ridiculing yet vulnerable. It seemed like the world had stopped around the pair of them. Blondies stare could pierce a hole through a lesser man, but it appeared that Grantaire was no less man when it came to his Apollo. The Apollo in question was in every sense of the word beautiful, sharp jaw, and piercing blue eyes that seemed like they had the same effervescent fire in them, that the car out on the lawn did. R would describe him as sculpted by Hephaestus himself, and that it would put Michelangelo's 'David' to shame. However, Éponine wasn't quite as dramatic or whimsical. Still, there was something in this guy's face that held power to lead anyone into hell. To Éponine, this only spelled out danger and had seen far too many people lose everything over a pretty face, not that it seemed like R had much to lose. 

"What would it matter to you? It's not like I drank my weight in shitty beer and shagged strangers in dirty disease-infested toilets in the back of seedy clubs." his tone was dripping in disdain,  
"Why I want to know of all your endeavors, Enjolras, I believe in you and only you, you really should know that by now." It should have sounded mocking but became shaky at the end in a moment of naked emotion, along with the most fragile bit of disappointment. Then, the moment was broken when Enjolras rolled his eyes and continued up the stairs. 

"Wheres Montparnasse? He clearly still doesn't understand that if you're going to dangle first years over the banister, they have to have actually done something wrong!" As he marched up the stairs, the anger of the gods behind, Grantaires eyes seemed to follow.

"I'm guessing that's your golden god then."  
"Yeah"  
"Ah"  
"Exactly" 

It seemed that by this point, the rest of the group left, not that neither Éponine nor Grantaire had seemed to notice. Grantaire seemed bewitched by Enjolrase's presence. To Éponine watching the short yet insense exchange, it was like watching lightning only slightly, yet repeatedly missing a tree that someone was hiding under. 

"Well, he seems like a bit of a tosser, I suppose." Éponine wasn't particularly convincing when saying this, but it made Grantaire huff out a quiet laugh anyway. 

"The sad thing is, he's just really not." 

The school bell was never really something that Éponine used to pay attention too but apparently at st. Lamarque's, it wasn't something you physically could ignore. Just like before, the mountains of Boys filled the hallways like a sweaty river carrying hockey sticks and satchels in a free for all, that was soundtracked by the loudest bell ever. It felt as though the elephants upstairs where nothing compared to the sharp ringing. 

"Why is it so loud this time?" Éponine had to yell over the wave of sound, as she and Grantaire were dragged through the tidal wave. 

"Its Javert, caretaker. He hates us all and loves to watch us suffer, always manages to hijack the bell after lunchtime. You have no idea the number of times he's tried to call the board of education. Ya know, I think he tried to call the police a couple of times, actually." The two of them were now holding onto one another's arms to guide their way through the crowd.  
Meanwhile, Grantaire was yelling, "Lady trying to get through, come on gentleman have some bloody respect!" 

"Why'd he call the police?" The mention of police ignited the pre-conditioned fight or flight instinct in Éponine, but this was obviously not a typical school. Everyone here was obviously insane.

"Ah, well, you see Bahorel may or may not have started an illegal fight club in the sports hall, and Jehan may or may not be working with Montparnasse, on some kind of illegal moonshine distillery in one of the abandoned science labs. I think Enjolras may or may not have written a particularly descriptive hit list full of government officials and then their addresses. Still, I don't know anything; they're just rumors."  
"You were involved in all of them, weren't you." this was not asked as a question. This was a statement, and Grantaire wasn't particularly trying his hardest to pretend he had deniability in any of the situations. Now walking across the grass to an outer building, Grantaire walking with one hand in his pocket, another pulling on a cigarette in his mouth, accompanied with a sheepish grin. 

"Well, Enjolras didn't ask me directly for the Foreign secretaries address, but sometimes maniacs have gotta work together. He gave me a cheeky pat on the back, you know?"  
"I bet it was very erotic."  
"Oh, the most erotic, you have no idea."

Both of them were now grinning to both themselves and each other. 

"You know I may or may not have started painting fake copies of famous portraits. Montparnasse, you know, the one that was dangling that child above a 20 feet drop by his ankles, well he's got a lot contacts in need of that sort of thing." He looked at her expectantly while Éponine looked away. 

"Yeah, I'm not sure I want to really get back into that shit, ya know. My parents just got locked up, puts a bit of a downer on the whole life of crime. When you're the only one looking after your kid brother and sister, and they've been ripped away from you all of a sudden. Surprise, surprise 'providing' the bare minimum for your family and then blowing the rest on 'expanding the business' isn't that sustainable, who knew hey!" To anyone who stood further away, the scene would just look like two teenagers smoking in a field. Still, for Grantaire and Éponine, it felt like everything had changed. The understanding of one another's lonely souls felt like a mutual boulder had been lifted off their shoulders. The unmoveable Éponine Thénardier let out a tear. The earth was no longer coming down around her as R wrapped his arms around her in a warm hug, both just enjoying the others company in a moment of shared understanding. 

"You know Ponine, my lovely, I think the two of us are going to be good friends." 

As the two of them walked across the football field, arms around each other shoulders in shared comradery, it felt like things might not be so bad. Despite a population of would-be criminals and a loud ass bell, as cliche as it sounded, Éponine Thénardier, the Jondrette girl, felt as if this place could finally be her home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, to anyone who had begun reading already, all that's different is that I've combined my previous three chapters into one as id rather format it this way, anyway comments and suggestions are always welcomed (I love receiving headcanons for this stuff as well) 
> 
> All my love, E


End file.
